Magazine article The Spectator

Soulless Sex

Magazine article The Spectator

Soulless Sex

Article excerpt

While Sharon was upstairs getting ready I sat and read her Cosmopolitan, which lay open on the kitchen table. Cosmopolitan is Sharon's Bible. She reads it from cover to cover as soon as it arrives and models her life on its contents. Its philosophy is her philosophy. In the past this has meant, basically, having as much sex, in as many different positions, with as many different partners as she could manage, given that there are only 24 hours in a day and some of these must be devoted to sleep. If, at any given moment, you want to fathom Sharon's innermost thoughts and desires, you only have to pop into a newsagent's and flick through the most recent issue and it's all there.

But in this month's think-piece at the front of the magazine, the editor, I was sorry to read, is back-pedalling furiously. In a sort of Papal Bull, she admits that Cosmopolitan's past advocacy of casual sex may have been a little cavalier. Unless approached with a positive, calculating attitude, she warns readers, 'soulless sex' can in fact lead to unhappiness.

Sharon came downstairs with her hair in a towel. She noticed which page I was reading and said, 'Cosmo is right: I'm getting so tired of soulless sex.' After reading this month's Cosmo, she said, she was turning over a new leaf. Soulless sex was out and meaningful relationships were now in.

Having said that, she added, last week she'd had the best casual sex she'd ever had, in the cubicle of a public lavatory, with a builder on his lunchbreak. It was one of those public lavatories permanently flooded with a fluorescent blue light. This is supposed to make life difficult for heroin addicts and other self-injectors by masking their veins. 'What a waste of taxpayers' money,' said Sharon indignantly. 'I could see his veins even without my contact lenses in.'

The next time she came downstairs she was all lipstick and glitter. All she had to do was roll a joint, finish her wine and she'd be ready to go. And whatever happens in the pub tonight, she said, I mustn't let her pick up any blokes. If necessary, she said, I must physically restrain her. This month's Cosmopolitan had been a timely wake-up call for her, she said, carefully inserting a piece of rolled-up cardboard into the end of the spliff. …

Search by... Author
Show... All Results Primary Sources Peer-reviewed

Oops!

An unknown error has occurred. Please click the button below to reload the page. If the problem persists, please try again in a little while.